White Pain
by Itsu Ronai
Summary: This is not so much a story as a series of vignettes. The idea is to explore the mind of the narrator, and I do not purport to make anything more of it, except, I hope, an enjoyable fanfic. My first fanfiction of any kind. Please read and review.


It was too late. He had been awakened.

I clutched my shoulder and braced my will against his, searching desperately for that icy center that was my only shield. But it had long ago begun to melt, and its slippery remnants eluded me as desperation grew. I fell to the ground as the pressure mounted, bringing the cold light against the back of my eyes. He won my hand and pulled my glasses clumsily from my face, flinging them to the hard ground as He sensed my heightening terror. He took my fear and forced it through my right eye. I felt the familiar killing flame as He made it His own. The sword points of His wings began to stab through the muscle of my back and I screamed as a feathery maelstrom erupted from my shoulders like a torrent of shattered glass. I heard myself cry out in a crushed gasp to Niwa, whose eyes were already dwindling into the purple cunning that would save him from my failure. The world turned gold and I let go and fell backward into darkness. I could hear Him laughing as He stepped out into the light.

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It was a long time before I felt anything again. He was trying to kill me, trap me, in order to secure his form. This I somehow knew. I could feel his rage like a flaring pulse as he struck at my only friend and found nothing but shadows. I heard, dimly, the sound of voices, his and that of the Darkness, taunting, angry, distinctly protective. Niwa had fallen back into the safety of shadow, while I lay helpless in the unforgiving white fire. I felt Him brace our bond against me, using the chains that tied us to hold me down as He simultaneously struggled to fly as far from me as possible, to leave me in the immovable emptiness. Perhaps this time He would fail, but we both knew that sooner or later, He would win. He was stronger, older, and infinitely crueler, and He would break me in the end.

The golden chains pulled tighter around my thoughts as He fought for mastery, and even the sound of His breathing dimmed in the constricting haze. Each time, He fought two enemies, and, each time, the Darkness escaped and the shackles grew a little tighter round my own resistance. Niwa couldn't have known that I was losing, but I hoped that he would kill me when the white wings encased my shoulders for good. At least the Shadow would not hold back when my will was gone. He would strike down my captor and the world would be free. Unless He won. Then I would have to bear the agony in silence, fettered in a prison where even thought would be killed as the countless centuries wore on. That was why He could not win. Even death paled in the reflection of this fate. Niwa had to triumph, at the last. And we both—He and I---would have to die.

This time, however, was not to be that day. Even as the chains burned white scars into my mind, I felt His light hesitate. Niwa shouted my name and we both heard him, through the darkness and the light. And He hesitated. The chains loosened for just an instant, as quick as the sudden wavering of a flame. But it was enough. In that moment, I seized control---just for a few seconds, and only weakly---and took my hand back. For that flash of time, I had a hold on the world, and I saw Niwa's frightened eyes through the mask of Darkness, and the arm of his captor pinned back against the wall with the force of His fury. And I saw the white feather that He held, filled with His power, poised to kill every hope---and in that one instant of clarity, I destroyed it. His confusion gave the Darkness the time it needed, and as I fell back under His mind, I saw the line of purple shadow that came hurtling from the Shadow's hand. It faded as my vision did, but I heard His frustrated cry as I sank back into the white. Slowly, the color of thought changed to the deep black of unconsciousness. And I slept.

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Hours uncounted passed me by.

I awoke in my bed. My Angel was silent. I could still feel the smoldering ache of the pressing white in my mind, but my soul was free. As I examined myself, I saw that someone had changed my clothes as I slept. The shirt I wore showed no trace of blood on the shoulders, and there was no tear where the white blades had sliced through my skin. My old clothes were doubtless gone for good, disposed of with every other shirt that the Light destroyed. My back was bandaged again, and the gauze was still warm with live blood from the reopened wound. Niwa had a pair of wings that did not tear, but came at Shadow's call. I found myself envying him again. I was cold once more, though, undoing the worst of the thaw, and frosting my barrier with all the ice I had. Light creates heat, and thus passion is my undoing.

The house was silent, but I knew that Father had been there. The books that we had ruined when I last struggled alone with Him were gone, as were the burnt and ragged curtains that He had set ablaze. Father knew when Light was about, and he had watched them bring me back, when Shadow's flight brought me to the door and left me for the help to see. It was evening again. I had slept through school. I lay still and listened for any stirring of His thoughts within me.


End file.
